Your Last Imagining
by PikaCheeka
Summary: Rikudou Madara makes use of Hashirama's incapacitated state for one last time, but whether it is real or not is something he is unwilling to say. Current timeline. HashiMada (though Madara pretty much doms). Darkfic.


This was meant to be a 100-500-word drabble for memedestroyer on Tumblr, with the MadaHashi prompt "Imagination's the key" and it definitely got out of hand. I wanted to do little smutty drabbles and got 1500-word angst smut instead. (PS – I didn't edit so don't bother telling me about typos. I know they probably exist.) This is also my first "published" HashiMada smut fic here because I was never comfortable posting my others publicly. It's a strange feeling. At any rate! This is related to a larger fic I have been working on, so hopefully I will finish that soon.

Rikudou Madara makes use of Hashirama's incapacitated state for one last time, but whether it is real or not is something he is unwilling to say. Current timeline. HashiMada (though Madara pretty much doms). Rated M for explicit and aggressive sex, violence, angst. Definitely a darkfic. If you don't think Madara is a villain, don't read.

**Your Last Imagining**

**by PikaCheeka**

Hashirama closed his eyes, unnerved at the sight of Madara's left eyelid. He had seen Madara once, long ago, when he was blinded, his eyes eventually sewn shut because the light of the sun burned them. It seemed that without his eyes, Madara was at his lowest, and it was happening again.

"You don't like how I look now, do you?" He could almost feel his smile as the weight in his lap shifted. Madara lifting his arms, tugging his own hair, probably stroking the horns on his forehead protector. "I didn't expect this, either. You can imagine I look like how I used to."

He ground down against him, a hitch in his breath betraying his frustration when he realized what was wrong. Madara must have noticed it with himself, what seems like ages ago already, but for some reason he had not expected Hashirama's virility to fail him in death. "Ah, well," he sighed after a moment, leaning back. Hashirama didn't have to look at him to know that expression, the laid back disappointment masking a depthless rage.

"I've been waiting so long but… Imagination's the key, isn't it?" those hands, the all-too-familiar hands now wearing gloves of a deceptive softness, ghosted over his face and throat. He would be grinning now, "It's how we used to play," he kissed him slowly before burying his face in his neck, leaning forward onto his knees. His thighs were tight and trembling as he pushed against him. Hashirama recalled Madara's habit of aggressively but nervously trying to rut against him in public when he thought no one was looking, and he felt a stirring in his loins that he hadn't thought possible in an Edo Tensei. He didn't know if it was a genjutsu, as Madara's gaze could penetrate his eyelids, and he didn't care if it was.

"Can't you at least take the chakra rods out? I can't move," he finally hissed, unable to handle the tension any longer.

Madara paused, and for a long agonizing moment Hashirama wondered if he would walk away, but in the end he felt those familiar arms, now heavy in his robes, wrap around his back and tear something from between his shoulders loose. "Now you can move your arms," he whispered against his ear, now snaking his hand down to rest on thigh. "What else do you want to move?"

"Everything."

"No." A simple enough answer, and one the Senju had expected, for Madara thrived on being difficult. But his hands were enough for now; he knew he would be free eventually, if only to do this one last time. Madara was already dangerously impatient, and the moment Hashirama brushed his hand against him he angrily grabbed it and shoved it between his robes and under his pants. All those years and all that power had not changed the brutality and simplicity of his desires; in less than a minute Hashirama casually pulled away from him, moving lower still to his entrance.

An expletive hissed into his ear told him he had succeeded in what he wanted, and with an uncomfortable wrenching he felt the last chakra rods torn from his back and thrown to the ground.

It had to be a genjutsu, he knew this, and yet something about it was like one he had never felt before. Because as Madara pushed him back to better mount him, he leaned forward and kissed him again. He lingered too long, his hands rapidly moving between them, freeing what he needed to, and Hashirama realized what was different. Taste. He_ tasted_.

"It's just your imagination," Madara whispered, in all his eeriness, his ability to read Hashirama's mind at the most inopportune moments. He took those last few seconds to finish taking care of the added layers of his clothing before he abruptly pushed down, fully sheathing himself in one swift movement with a grunt of pain. His partner flinched at the sudden pressure, the heat. He was burning him now, and though he himself could not feel pain, he could feel the foreign chakra inside of Madara flaring violently with all the power his body now held.

When he moved, the chakra ripped through his body, heating his skin wherever it touched Hashirama's and leaking from him. It was a strange sensation, making him feel more alive as an Edo Tensei then he had ever felt before, and he reflexively grabbed Madara's hips and pushed him down again as he moved into him. After several thrusts he could feel the chakra recede, and Madara was again familiar to him. He was still erratic, nervous, exactly as he had been all those decades ago. And even as he sunk his teeth into the side of Hashirama's face, the Senju realized that perhaps this was nothing but a memory after all.

The thought was driven from his mind when Madara gasped something into his ear, a vague annoyance at his inability to bleed when bitten. He flicked his hand up, burying it in the Uchiha's thick hair, now soft and white, and forcefully kissed him. Madara snarled against him when he felt the other man's teeth, torn between pulling away and pushing down into the hand now wrapped tightly around his aching member.

He bled, and Hashirama tasted him again. Madara did not notice though; he was too distracted, too near orgasm to remind him that this was all a lie as the other man now began pumping him. For a moment he didn't care if this was nothing but a memory, a genjutsu, his imagination. Madara was his again, and suddenly all those lonely years after he stood over his lover's corpse at the Valley of the End were gone. When Madara came, stifling his familiar cry in Hashirama's shoulder, the chakra of the juubi ripped through his body with such force that his partner came moments later. He lay there a long moment, breathing heavily but otherwise not moving, and Hashirama slowly traced circles over his back. The other man pressed his face hard into his neck as he did, and Hashirama felt something wet against his throat that Madara would never admit to. It didn't matter then, didn't matter that Madara was now the most powerful being on earth and that he was dead, didn't matter that Madara was about to destroy the world and he was helpless to stop him. If this was what the younger man's imagination was built on, this longing and loneliness, he was not long for his new world.

"No. This is your imagination. Not mine." He felt the words against his cheek as Madara kissed him again, this time softly. "This is your last imagining, but I will have you forever."

Madara leaned back again and Hashirama cracked his gaze enough to see his partner's irritated look, this time masking not a rage but an equally familiar sadness in his dampened, sunken eye. He had always been pale, but now there was a brightness to him, as if something was glowing from within, that made him uneasy. Just as it must have made Madara himself when he abruptly lashed out and clamped his hand over Hashirama's eyes. "Don't look at me. Is your imagination so weak that you can not remember me?"

The other man shoved him back so hard that had he been alive, his neck would have cracked, and he leapt off him. When his vision cleared, Madara was gone, only a spark of light against the dark night of the battlefield, and Hashirama realized that perhaps, he had never been there after all. It was only when he closed his eyes again, too exhausted to understand what was happening so far away, that he remembered the taste, that he felt the wisps of chakra around him, and that he heard those last words spoken echoing in his ears. "…remember us?"


End file.
